Grace Given
by singedbylife
Summary: This is my attempt at a slightly fluffy/silly story with nearly no angst and without any M/M what so ever. Expect het CANON!Spike and het CANON!Buffy. :) As always, the beginning is a bit dark. Envolves main characters' violent death. Takes place right after Angel the Series ended, episode "Never Fade Away."
1. Chapter 1

Illyria was fighting ahead of them, and from the high pitched cries of pain from her adversaries, she was doing a good job of it, too.

Gunn was nowhere to be seen. Spike didn't like to think about what that meant. The lawyer had been in pretty bad shape before the battle had begun. He hoped that Gunn had passed out and was simply lying unnoticed somewhere tugged under a garbage container. Small chance of that, though.

The fighting was vicious and despite their supernatural powers and decades or centuries or even millennia worth of fighting experiences, Spike knew that they were losing.

They'd known that all along of course.

Yet, so far, he and Angel had managed to keep the demons at bay and it felt bloody good. Angel with his sword and Spike with his speed. Although Angel's wish to _'slay the dragon_ ' seemed to be fulfilled a bit too soon for Spike's liking right this very moment.

The big winged monstrosity was hovering above the old ponce, every once in a while sweeping down, furiously trying to get its claws or teeth on Angel and succeeding more often than not.

Spike didn't like that. He didn't mind dying himself. He'd already done that twice voluntarily, but he didn't fancy watching his grandsire cease to exist. Didn't fancy that at all.

"Spike! Watch out!"

Angel's shout rang out loud and clear despite the heavy rain and the roars of various hell beings, but it was Angel's eyes more than anything, looking so uncharacteristically alarmed and frightened, that made Spike twist around even before Angel had finished calling out his warning. And just narrowly, Spike avoided the sharp claws of a black and oily looking demon flashing similar looking fangs.

Never stopping his turning motion, and an effective circle kick followed by a neck breaking blow later, Spike jumped right back to face the demons advancing on Angel, who was busy fighting the dragon.

Only now the dragon was ascending, blaring triumphantly high above the alley and where Angel had just stood, a smeared cloud of dust was being washed away by the heavy downpour. His sword lay shining drenched in water on the ground.

"Liam! No! Oh god, no!"

Spike staggered, momentarily shocked to the core. He found himself heaving for unneeded air, struggling to stay conscious for what seemed an eternity, but which in reality lasted only a split second before he clenched his jaw so hard it made his jaw bones, teeth and tendons creak. Glowing hatred running through him, he jumped forward, charging the oncoming Sire murdering fuckers.

It was a bloody dance just as he'd always wanted his very last dance to be. Going out in a blaze of glory felt good! And this time around, he was able to move and fight and kill. He was free of a pain induced, paralyzing, magical sodding Champion necklace too! Free to set his demon loose at long last!

He'd managed to swipe up Angel's sword from his grandsire's tarnished and spattered remains and was now hacking and kicking and twisting off demon after demon bloody heads.

He could barely see for the tears mingling with his blood and rain and who knew what else. The tears he couldn't stop, but they didn't bother him. He knew his humanity was just as much a part of him as his demon ever was, and despite the tears, the demon was in charge right now. And it was good at killing things. Very good.

But as much as his demon exulted in the sheer deadly violence, he'd just lost his last reason for going on. There was no one left. No one who gave a rat's ass about Spike. Buffy had moved on, Fred, poor, sweet Fred had been eaten by a hell god, Wesley had just been killed, and Angel…

Angel was gone.

 _Bring it on, you bleeding assholes!Bring it on and I'll fucking kill you. I swear I'm gonna tear out your bloody filthy, stinking intestines through your bleeding necks! Come on! Give it to me good!_

When Spike finally died, he barely noticed it.


	2. Chapter 2

Usually when Spike passed away, he came to feeling intense pain or hunger and terror. Always terror.

But this time was different.

First off, he was feeling comfortable.

He was lying on his side, curled up on a smooth, soft-feeling surface. The air around him felt warm and smelled fresh and almost sweet. He was not confined in a tight box. He wasn't burning. All in all, it was a very different and pleasant awakening.

He blinked a couple of times. Perhaps he hadn't died at all. Maybe he'd simply passed out?

That idea went well with the fact that he didn't seem to be able to focus his eyes quite right. He couldn't see anything but brightness.

He frowned and slowly unfolded as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Chewing his lip he turned his head right and then left, blinking his eyes. All he could see around him was nothingness. No way to tell where anything began or where it ended. The floor he was sitting on felt horizontal and solid, but he couldn't see any ceiling or walls. Everything was just… white.

He held up his hands, suddenly fearing he'd gone blind.

No, his hands were there, five fingers moving and bending, and both hands neatly attached to his arms. Thank god for that.

 _Well then._

He pushed himself off of the ground and stood swaying for a bit. It was difficult staying vertical without any points of reference to gauge a position from.

After turning full circle, he found he was none the wiser except that he was all alone in a seemingly endless space of white.

 _Bugger._

It made him feel uncomfortably exposed. Like standing in one of those identification rooms with mirrors where people could look in from the other side and you could only see, in his case, nothing. Not that he'd ever been in one. He'd have eaten the coppers long before that would ever have been a possibility. But he'd seen movies. Felt just like one of those rooms.

He looked down, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He was stark naked. No wonder.

But as he gazed down his bare body, he noticed that it looked unexpectedly whole and unblemished. There were no signs of the deep gashes and wounds which had been rather thoroughly dealt to him by the demons before one had gotten lucky and ended the game once and for all.

He'd probably been decapitated, but who could tell? He'd been far too busy killing the pillocks, and in too much pain, to be able to distinguish new hurts from old ones. He shuddered and hurriedly closed the door of mental trauma and took another good look at his body. He liked his body, always had, and he was glad to see it back in one piece.

"Hello Spike."

He shrieked and spun around none too gracefully. "Who… _Wes_? Is that you?"

"Yes… Although technically I suppose I'm not truly me. I'm dead you know."

"Yeah, I know. M'sorry about that, Wes. Makes two of us, I think."

"Quite. And this time, for good, right?"

"Yeah, I expect so. Though it's sort of hard for me to tell the difference."

Wes looked compassionate and sort of all knowing. He was wearing beige khakis and a knitted, white sweater. His serene expression made Spike feel nervous and on guard. And why didn't he have any clothes when Wes did?

"So you know what we're doing here, then?"

"I know why I am here, yes. I've been here for a long time already. I'm aware of the fact that it's only been a few hours for you since we lost the battle, but for me it's been much longer."

"So why are you here? Paying your respects before I get sent off to Hell?"

He didn't mean for his voice to sound bitter or for it to quiver a bit in the end, but there it was: Hell scared him no matter how much he deserved it.

Wes shook his head.

"No, that's not my responsibility. I'm here to tell you that the _Powers that Be_ …"

"No! Not the bloody PTBs again! Those wankers killed Angel right in front of me! He was a bloody Champion an' he didn't even get to slay his bloody dragon!" Wes looked like he was going to object, and Spike just couldn't allow that right now, so he continued,

"An' there we were all set up to go against the bleeding corrupt Circle of bloody Thorns, who clearly weren't the good guys! And we offed them an' what did we get as a thank you? We got _obliterated_ , is what we got!"

"Spike…"

"What!?"

Wes moved closer. Or at least, he suddenly seemed to be a lot closer without having actually moved his legs. It was creepily odd and very unnatural. Gave Spike a sense of magic, and he'd never liked that. He hugged himself protectively.

"I'm here on behalf of the Powers that Be. They realize that you may have reasons for not fully appreciating them, but nevertheless they are willing to..."

"They are willing to forgive me for thinking they are wankers? Well, ta very much! I don't need their sodding forgiveness for hating them because frankly, I don't give a fuck. In fact, you can go tell them that. I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck!"

"Spike, hush! Listen to me. As I said, they understand that you don't think too highly of them, but they do recognize that you are a Champion and they feel that you should have a shot at obtaining Heaven just like any other Champion."

"Do they now? Well, that's just real nice of them, innit! That's just… They do?" He suddenly felt at a loss for words.

Sure, once he'd gotten his soul, he'd reckoned that he was not exactly your ordinary vamp, but it was a huge step to go from being extraordinary to being forgiven.

He'd always teased Angel about his foolish quest for redemption. Lost cause an' all. It wasn't that he didn't hope for the best for the poof. Honestly, he couldn't quite bear the thought of Angel fighting and hoping and fighting some more and then not get his long yearned for pressie. Not that Spike didn't want the same pressie, because he did. Of course he did. He'd just never given Heaven any serious thought because it wasn't meant for the likes of him. Or for the poof. It was… a bloody miracle if it did. And miracles didn't happen to Spike. But maybe...

"Wes?"

"Yes, Spike?"

"Did he make it? Did he get to go to Heaven?"

"Yes."

A beat.

"Good."

"We all hope that you can come join us too."

"The ponce can't rightly feel so yet, can he? M'sure he enjoys the peace and quiet."

"Angel's been gone for a lot longer than you think, Spike. Time moves…"

"Differently in other dimensions, yeah… I know. Well, tell him… Tell him I said 'Good on you mate! Think you deserved it." He licked his lips and looked down at his feet. "I really do, you know."

"I know, Spike."

Wes looked at him, smiling a little. "I'll make sure to tell him. And as I said, the thing is the Powers that Be think you deserve it too. But first, they have an assignment for you. And they have put me in charge of it."

At this Wes looked as smug and proud as a little school boy getting his first A, and Spike furrowed his brow in slight apprehension.


	3. Chapter 3

"There are certain rules when assignments are given concerning Heaven. Fewer than one would expect, to be sure, but nevertheless there are procedural standards which need to be met. First off, and this is not an important rule, but you need some clothes, of course."

"Well, I didn't remove the ones I wore before coming here. The wankers probably just wanted to ogle my body, twisted buggers."

"We all arrive at the Threshold in nothing but our birthday suits, Spike."

Spike snorted derisively. On the other hand, old Peter probably did need something to look forward to besides opening and closing the Pearly Gates all day and night.

Wes continued, "As I've been placed in charge of getting you ready for your assignment, I find these rather fitting."

Spike looked down at himself one more time. He was now dressed in a snug t-shirt, jeans, docs and a long duster made of soft leather. On his left thumb, and some of his other fingers, were heavy silver rings, some flat and some adorned with what looked like hearts, skulls and anchors. Around his right wrist was a wide leather bracelet matching his new duster.

He shifted a bit as he took in his brand new attire, chewing on his lip, honestly not quite knowing what to say. The slight movement alerted him to another significant change in his usual apparel. Surreptitiously, he hooked a thumb in the rim of his jeans and pulled them out a bit. "I don't usually wear boxers."

"Oh. Briefs then?"

"No, I don't wear underwear. Don't need it."

"Not even when you're wearing jeans with a zipper?" Spike merely raised his eye brow and Wes blushed a bit before continuing, "I see. However, I believe underwear is appropriate."

"Well, I don't and as I'm not walking around with my dick hanging out of my pants, I don't need the bloody things! And what is this anyway, Wes? A joke? I mean, look at me!"

"You're an angel, Spike."

"And don't try to sweet talk me. I look like a sodding ponce!"

"I'm not sweet talking anybody. You. Are an angel."

"That's a load of bollocks, Wes! I bloody well am not and changing my clothes from black to white doesn't change that!"

"I think it does. Angels represent goodness and brightness and they don't flutter about in black leather or without underwear."

"Flutter?"

Spike turned around, belatedly realizing he couldn't very well look behind his back so he tried to reach behind with his hands and arms, but he couldn't feel any big, feathery appendages sticking out. That realization made him feel a tad disappointed. If he was going to be an angel, why didn't he have any sodding wings? He stuck out his lower lip in childish disappointment.

"You don't have wings, Spike. And you will not grow any, either. In fact, you'll look exactly the same as you looked before you passed away. "Your heart doesn't beat and your lungs still do not need oxygen. You can change your face and sport yellow eyes and sharp fangs just as you could before. Nevertheless, as of now, you are an angel."

"But don't you see how ridiculous this is, Wes? 'M a vampire. We don't become angels."

"Spike, you need to realize that angels aren't what we've been told they are. Sure, some of them are very close to our expectations and early descriptions and true, quite a few of them actually do have wings but those are the old ones. The 'original ones', one might say. The rest of the angels are just ordinary people given specific assignments before entering Heaven. So called Guardian Angels, you understand."

"No, I don't understand, Wes. M' hardly an expert on the matter, am I?" He tilted his head as he contemplated the idea of angels and assignments. "Is that what I am now? A Guardian Angel?" That sounded pretty awe-inspiring, actually, and Spike straightened his back a little.

"No." Wes laughed.

Oh, bloody hell. He slumped right back.

"No, only humans become guardian angels."

Of course. What had he been thinking?

"Spike, please don't get me wrong. You are unique. You are the chosen Champion of the Chosen One. Moreover you are the only vampire in known history to mankind ever to seek out and win back his soul."

"Ta." He was well aware of the fact that he sounded gruff and hurt, despite the praise.

"Don't thank me, Spike. I'm merely stating the facts. And I want to apologize for not letting you know, back when I was alive, how impressed I was by your actions, previous and present. The timing was bad, I suppose. Angel and I had been friends for a long time… Truth be told, I didn't want to hurt his feelings."

Spike nodded. He didn't blame Wes. Never had. For one thing, he was used to being disregarded and why should Wes treat him any differently than the rest of them? Besides, everyone of that lot had been with Angel for a long time. And they'd only known Spike for a year and before that year, the only encounters any of them had ever had with Spike had been when he was all soulless and far less friendly. Feeling hurt because he couldn't become a real boy guardian angel, was ridiculous. He should never have been this close to Heaven at all.

"Well, ta just the same, Wes. As for how things worked at Wolfram n' Hart, I was just happy that the old forehead would let me stay. Gave me a purpose, yeah?"

Wesley nodded and smiled before continuing, "Which brings me back to your assignment. Now, as I said, most humans tend to end up in Heaven fairly easily. As long as they don't go about killing innocents and mostly do good, they are welcome. Demons don't get in that easily and vampires never do. Apart from Angel, of course."

"Of course." Spike didn't quite manage to keep out the bitterness from his voice, sod it all.

"In your particular case, you've got the blood of thousands of innocents on your hands."

"That I have."

"And you were only truly good when you were human and during the last two years of your long existence."

Spike nodded. It was true, after all. If not for the chip, he would've kept on killing without remorse. He hated the Initiative for what they'd done to him but in the grand scheme of things, the chip had been a good thing.

"You helped the Slayer getting rid of Acathla, although the jury is still out as to whether you did that in order to save the world or simply to be with Drusilla."

"Bit of both, I expect. But yeah, truth be told, if I hadn't gotten Drusilla in the bargain, I wouldn't have cared much about the world whatsoever. So you can tell that jury of yours that they can omit that one from the score. It wasn't about being a world saviour. I just wanted to be with the woman I loved."

"Don't underestimate the importance of love, Spike. Love… Love means everything."

Something about the ex-watcher's wistful voice made Spike furrow his brow. Oh, bloody hell. Fred! Fred should be in Heaven if anyone ever should!

"Fred… She is not here, is she, Wes?"

"No, she isn't."

"M' truly sorry about that, Wes. For you. And for Fred."

Wes nodded.

"When I'm standing here on the Outside, I feel the loss more profoundly. But Inside, I'm comforted every day. As soon as I'm Inside, I leave all my mortal worries and sorrows behind and I truly find joy in knowing that she isn't hurting anymore... and I am instantly embraced by an overwhelming sense of Love, Happiness and Well-being.

"That sounds a bit like you're stoned if you ask me."

Wes looked slightly perturbed. "No, no, it's nothing like that."

Spike smirked.

"Look Wes. I understand I'm happy for you. You all walk around in pure happiness and it sounds bloody fantastic.

Wes' expression relaxed and Spike couldn't help it:

"Tell me, are there enough napkins lying about to wipe off the perpetual drool from your happy, open mouths?"

Wes did not look amused. "Spike, please. If you succeed with your assignment, you will get admitted entrance once it's over. But I suppose, if you're not truly interested..."

"Of course, I am! Was just pulling your leg! Gimme some of your Happy Heavenly Pills any day. I'll gladly pop 'em."

Wes frowned, looking slightly in doubt as to whter this had been the right call of not, and Spike decided on shutting his mouth for a while. 


	4. Chapter 4

He landed hard on his back and was stunned for a minute as all his borrowed air whoomphed out of his lungs.

After a minute or so, he was able to take in the surroundings. The surface was soft. One less cracked skull to worry about. Gingerly, he flexed his limbs. They didn't feel broken, either. Good. He opened his eyes. Stars were shining from a black night sky.

Sudden sounds from nearby fighting stirred him into motion, making him do an instant kip up born out of sheer reflex. It was a bit too soon after the heavy drop he'd just taken however, and he had to reach out and brace himself against the nearby wall, panting a bit. Slowly he caught his breath and balance, and glanced around.

It was certainly not the fight scene he'd been in earlier on because he wasn't standing in an alley in LA anymore. Below his shining boots was grass and around him were uneven rows of tombstones. Back in a bloody cemetery, and dressed as an obvious target. Perfect.

And what about his mission? One minute he was talking to Wes and the next he was back on Earth. At least, he thought he was. But he didn't know what his assignment was. That hardly seemed wise? Had he been sacked before he'd even gotten started? Bloody hell!

No, if that were the case, he'd probably be roasting in said Hell right now. This place didn't feel like any Hell, he'd seen and felt. This place felt like home.

More fighting could be heard. He was standing close to a vicious scrap, judging from the sounds of blows and pained exclamations behind the crypt he was leaning up against.

Above him, the moon shone through a few thin scattered clouds. From what he could see of the stars he was back in good old America. Could be Sunnydale, if that place hadn't been sucked down into the Hellmouth. Cautiously, he moved a bit closer to the corner of the crypt to see who was fighting and how many they were. And what they were.

"That'll teach ya!"

A bright female voice sang out strong and clear before he'd gotten a good look. And the sounds of fighting momentarily ceased and so did Spike's ability to think.

"Oh, don't be shy, fellas. I know he was the biggest and the baddest of you, but there's still plenty of room for more vampire dust in this town. Why don't you let me show you?"

Spike pulled back and had to lean up against the crypt to keep from toppling over.

That voice! It was _her_!

He could hear her harrumph impatiently on the other side of the mausoleum and then the commotion resumed.

Each utterance, each oomph, and argh was like music to his ears. He could picture her, swirling about, hair dancing around her beautiful face as she dealt out death after death with her stake or her hands.

He wanted to watch her, wanted to help her, but he couldn't get his bloody feet to move. Slowly, he slid down until he sat on the grass, trying to process what was happening.

He didn't realize that he was crying until he felt cold tears running down his cheeks. He used the back of his hand to wipe them off and sniffed hard.

He couldn't just sit here. Ever since they'd left Rome, he'd regretted that he hadn't gotten to see her. Hadn't talked to her. Truth be told, he'd regretted that ever since he'd been resurrected. He knew she was better off without him and yet there was that nagging sense of betrayal on his part for not contacting her. If it had been the other way around and he'd been the one thinking she'd died and later found out that she had in fact come back to life again without telling him, he'd have walked right out into the first sunrise.

But then, Buffy never needed him as much as he needed her. Never loved him the way he loved her.

It had been very sweet of her to tell him she loved him there in the end. To grant him such a gift. And still, he hadn't been able to accept it. Because she shouldn't, should she? Soul or not, he was still wrong, wrong, wrong. He knew it and she knew it.

Sod it! As much as he wanted to go out there and show himself to her, he just had to scramble away and let her be. He'd had this discussion with himself a thousand times already and he'd always come to the same conclusion. Nothing new about it, really. Except of course, this time, she was only a few feet away.

Perhaps this was his special mission. To prove to the heavenly wankers once and for all that he could be a good little demon, and could resist the temptation and stay off their Chosen One even though she was practically right in front of him.

Yeah, that was probably it. It would break his sodding heart, of course, but when was it ever whole?

He pushed himself off the wall and walked determinedly away from the melee and the love of his life.

As he walked, he frantically clapped his new duster's empty pockets for a fag and a lighter that obviously weren't there. A smoke would have been nice just now. He'd sussed out what to do and he was bloody well doing it, so couldn't they at least have given him a sodding cigarette for comfort? Bastards!

"Spike?" 


	5. Chapter 5

_Bloody hell_. He was such an idiot. Why hadn't he left right away?

Yet, hearing his name from her lips brought a rush of warmth flowing right into his cold dead heart and soul. It felt so bloody great that they could keep their sodding Heaven for all he cared, because he'd just had his share of happiness to last him an eternity.

He drew in a big, shaky breath and turned around, keeping his eyes lowered knowing that seeing her in front of him was going to be too much for him to handle.

The sound of her running feet came closer and then they were right there in front of him.

Two small Slayer feet connected to two slim Slayer legs. He gazed at them and couldn't help but smile. She was wearing black high heeled boots. Perfect battle attire for his girl. The image of the boots got a bit blurry and he sniffed a bit.

He swallowed and raised his head with a goofy, watery grin still plastered on his face. Her expression wiped it off immediately, though.

"Spike?"

This time her voice was almost a whisper and she looked so shocked and frightened that it nearly choked him.

"Buffy," he nodded in an awkward greeting, fidgeting with his duster pockets as he took her in, blinking rapidly to get rid of the excess water in his stupid eyes.

Her hair was long and bleached a bit more blonde than when he'd last seen her. She looked thinner. A bit more mature. She wore a red v-necked blouse and a black leather jacket.

He folded his arms tightly around himself to keep from touching her. "You look wonderful, luv."

She shook her head. "Spike, I… how?"

"Dunno. It just happened. I'm still dead, Buffy." _More so than usual even._

"But you _are_ dead! You've been gone for so long… and, and now you're here. Right here. And looking like..."

And she waved her hands at him, shaking her head in disbelief. He hugged himself some more. She widened her eyes as some kind of realization seemed to settle in.

"I'm dead too now, aren't I?"

"No."

"How can you tell?"

He could have told her that he could smell her blood from the small cut on her forehead and that it was more or less screaming at him to lick it off. Or he could have told her that he could sense her intense body heat, which nearly seared him even standing two feet away. Or he could have told her that he could hear her blood rushing through her smooth and healthy veins and that the sound was as sweet and soothing to him as the sound of a forest stream was to her.

Instead, he carefully reached out and placed his hand on her chest just above her heart. It thrummed against the tips of his fingers and made him smile a bit. Her skin was very soft. "You are alive, sweetheart. So much. Can't you feel it?"

And he looked back up. Her eyes were shining like they'd been the last time he saw her. She reached up and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly. "Spike," she said. Her other hand reached up and cupped his face. "Spike, I've missed you so much." She let go and embraced him. Hard.

A tiny sound sounding like a sob escaped from her throat.

"Oh god, don't cry, Buffy. Missed you too, luv. Every day." He folded his arms around her, hugging her back just as tightly as she was hugging him.

What had he been thinking staying away from her? How could he have done that to her? Here he was, a sodding vampire angel soon to be ripped away from her again. Christ, he was such a moron. He squeezed her even harder, relishing the feel of her body pressed against his. Relishing _her_ , and doing his best to remember everything before he got snatched away. Crying stupid, useless tears once more.

But no one interfered and after a while, they had both stopped sniffling and were simply standing there, breathing in tandem. Buffy rested her cheek against his chest and he ever so carefully rested his chin on top of her head. Her soft hair tickled him. They were gently rocking to and fro. Just resting, and it felt wonderful.

"So what's with the new clothes?" came her muffled voice.

"It's the same outfit I always wear."

She chuckled a bit. "Not quite. But it looks good on you." She pulled back. "You don't have to dress up, though. You're a hero no matter what clothes you wear."

"That makes two of us, luv. But I'm not really a hero. Without you, I'd be rubbish. Or dust. And most definitely in Hell."

Suddenly, he got the premonition that perhaps Buffy wasn't meant to know that he had been appointed as an angel. On the other hand, he didn't want to lie to her. And truth be told, he didn't feel very angelic, white clothes or not. "I've been gone as you know. Not to Hell, but to another dimension of sorts."

"I know. I saw you, remember? It was awful, Spike. But I was so proud of you. I still am."

He smiled, ridiculously pleased at her praise for a moment.

"Yeah, well, about that. All I know is it hurt like a bitch, but it felt right. I died of course, but as I did, I watched the entire Hellmouth collapse around me. And I knew you'd make it out of there. Knew you were going to be all right. It never occurred to me to think otherwise. It was a good death."

He smiled at her. Her eyes shone again. "It was what I wanted, Buffy. What I needed, I think," he added softly.

She nodded and smiled. "It's what heroes do, Spike. Sacrifice themselves. But enough of this hero talk for now, okay? I want to know everything, but you're back and that's what matters. Come, let's go. My apartment isn't too far away. Or do you want to head back to your place? Where're you staying at?"

"Um, nowhere. I just arrived… I'm not even sure where this is."

"You're in Torrance. You know, LA? And good! That means you can come stay at my place."

They walked side by side for about half an hour through quiet suburbs until they came to an older apartment building close to the corner of the main street.

Buffy let them in and while entering her door to her apartment located on the second floor, she added a quiet "Come in, Spike," in passing and that was that. He was in.

Once she'd turned on the lights, he could see that is was a relatively small flat, but a very nice one. There weren't many knick knacks, but it had a homey feeling to it just the same. And it smelled nicely of Buffy. "Been living here for a while?"

"Yeah. Two years. No, that isn't right. Nearly three years now."

"That long?"

He'd thought that she'd looked a bit older than when he last saw her but it didn't really fit into his time lines. He didn't care though. She looked gorgeous and he was with her and that was all that mattered. Still, it would be nice to know _when_ he was.

"What year is it, luv?"

"2011."

"Oh." _Seven years since the battle in the alley, then_.

"What about the rest of the Scoobies. And the slayers? They still around?"

"Oooo yeah! A lot of the new slayers live at HQ in England, thank God! Giles is in charge. Along with Andrew, would you believe it?"

"Had a hunch he'd go in that direction, yeah."

"You were always Mr. perceptive guy."

He smiled and she smiled back. "I'm gonna go get us something to drink. But I don't have any blood."

"I'll manage."

"Want a coke?"

"Do you have any beer?"

"Nope."

"Coke it is then."

She left to go get the beverages and he shrugged out of his duster and moved to hang it on a hanger rail in the open wardrobe fitted in right next to her entrance door. His hands were shaking a bit and his movements were clumsy. The duster slipped off the hanger on his first try and he had to do it again. His mouth felt completely parched. It was as if he was a bleeding teenage boy out on his first date.

"Ooh, grass stains! They'll be a bitch to clean off."

"Looks poncy anyway. Wouldn't mind a bit of wear and tear."

"Where'd you get it? At "Snow White's"?"

"Har-di-har. No, I lost all my clothes. Wes gave me these. They are a perfect fit – only sodding white, arent' they? It's more than a little cliché if you ask me. Thank god, he didn't give me a white hat as well."

"Yes," she laughed. Then she frowned. "Wes? As in Wesley, the ex-watcher Wes? But he's dead. He was killed in a big fight in LA years ago… We arrived too late. I mean, we kicked those suckers' asses, but only one from Angel's team was alive when we got there.

Spike's throat constricted, as she continued. She had come to help them?

"What was his name? Oh, yeah, Charles Gunn! I didn't stay to speak with him because he was pretty much with the unconscious. He left LA once he got better. But I tried to find Angel and I couldn't. I think he… died before we got there, Spike."

"I know, Buffy. I was there."

"What?!"

"I was there too. I saw Angel being dusted. T'was a bloody big dragon. One minute he was there and the next he was gone."

"You were here? In LA with Angel? But.."

"Look, Buffy. I know I should have contacted you a long time ago. And I know you're going to kick me out in a minute for telling you this, and that I deserve it, all right? But the thing is, I got resurrected right after Sunnydale. Or a few weeks after. Woke up a bloody ghost in Angel's office. Couldn't touch a thing. Fell through the floors and what not.

Buffy moved as if to say something but he held up his hands to stop her.

"Shh. Please, love, don't interrupt me. T'was a right mess and months went by before I got myself back to being all corporal. And the thing is, the longer I stayed dead for you, the less right it felt to contact you. But I did think about it, Buffy. Thought about it all the bloody time. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought to myself, _She's better off without you_. And you are, sweetheart. Much better off without me. All I'll ever do is remind you of all the sad things that happened to you back in Sunnydale an' you don't need that, love. You don't need that."

"God, Spike. Are you just about done now? You know what, I don't care because you are still such a hopeless dope!"

"Excuse me?"

"God, I don't even… will you come over here?"

He approached her wearily. She'd probably punch him in the nose, and he couldn't help but wince when she reached for him. But then all thoughts escaped his mind as she pulled his head down rather fiercely, and kissed him.

It was a soft kiss. Not at all like the kisses they'd shared back in Sunnydale. Back when he'd tried to make love to her, and all she'd wanted from him was shagging. This was more like the kiss, she'd given him after Glory.

"Such a silly old dope," she said and smiled up at him. She looked beautiful. She looked happy. Full of love. Glowing.

He couldn't help himself. He lowered his head to capture her lips once more. He shivered a bit when he felt her lips part, but he took her invitation and let his tongue glide along her lips and then delve deeper inside her mouth. She was warm and tasted sweet. Tasted like heaven. His own private Buffy heaven.

 _Stay away from here, Wes. If you come by now I'll rip out your throat, I swear!_

"You gonna be my shining white knight from now on, Spike?"

"I'll be yours, love. Always." _And I'll spend each day as if it were the last. God, never again am I gonna stay away from you. Never, ever again. Please!_

As he'd made his internal vow, a voice rang inside his mind. _"Good! Then all is as it should be! I hope it will be a long time, before I'll see you again. Still think the PTBs are bloody wankers?"_

"Do knights remove their armor themselves? Or do they let the warrior princesses rip it off? Cause I can do that." Buffy quirked her lips.

He laughed. "All right!" he said and dove in for another kiss, his head spinning with joy.

 **SOMEWHERE IN ACTUAL HEAVEN IN ONE OF THOSE WONKY TIME LINES**

"I know they want to teach him that you have a responsibility for making the most out of what you've been given. And I know that he hasn't exactly been doing that so far. But is this really necessary?"

"Life is what you make it, Angel. It's a gift that you can turn into something wondrous or the exact opposite. The PTB think that Spike still needs to learn what he was supposed to do with his life. Or unlife. When you were cursed with your soul, you chose to go on a mission for redemption and you chose to do what's right. That was your choice despite you being born a rather insufferable prick." Angel opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again, and nodded.

"In other words, you made the most out of what you had been given.

"As for Spike, he held an enormous potential for love before he became a vampire. A potential so big, that it never really left him, not even when he was soulless."

Angel closed his eyes, and nodded some more.

"But once he'd fought for and earned back his soul, he didn't dare reach out and use his extraordinary gift for love. That's a waste, and waste never sits well with the PTB.

"Spike loves Buffy more than anything Angel, and she loves him right back. Of course, you know how it is with the Powers that Be; They'll never tell you all the details, but I've been made to understand that the two of them will be together for the rest of Buffy's life span. And that they will be happy."

Angel sighed. Spike and Buffy did deserve both love and happiness. He could accept that. He could even learn to find joy in it. Eventually.

"And what about you, Wes? What was your gift?"

"I'm not quite sure. Maybe they will let me know some day. But right now, I feel like celebrating a bit. I was thinking that you and I should go listen to some Barry."

"White"?

"No, I'm rather in the mood for some Manilow… Shall we?"

 **.**


End file.
